


Scent

by DanOfVulcan



Series: The Tucker-Reed Playroom [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Armpit Kink, BDSM, Dom!Trip, Kink, M/M, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pubic Hair, Scent Kink, Sweat, Tuckerreed, sub!Malcolm, sweat kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-21
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2018-08-18 08:12:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8155256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanOfVulcan/pseuds/DanOfVulcan





	

Fingers twisted both of his nipples and he let out a moan. A pretty loud moan.

“I didn’t hear ya. Say it louder!” demanded the southern drawl.

 _Oh, God!_ “Yes, Sir!” the Englishman said.

“Now that’s better” Trip said as he released the now bruised nipples. His lover’s white skin was red from exertion, slapping, and whipping. Malcolm Reed stood kneeled on the carpet, butt naked except for the black blindfold, and the ropes around his chest. The latter crisscrossed his torso, forming a complex knot on his lower back, which kept his hands firmly tied together, and thence onto a shieve on the cieling. Trip, in turn, wore nothing but a black leather harness aorund his chest, and a black cotton jockstrap.

Malcolm’s breath was becoming even for the first time in minutes, his heart beat finally slowing down. The blonde kneeled, placed his hands in the shorter man’s thighs, caressed his fine dark hair, and smiled.

_He is still so soft when it comes to it, my Trip. He is truly pretending to be a dom._

The hands moved up, purposefully avoiding coming anywhere near the Englishman’s crotch, steering clear of the dark pubic hair by no more than a centimeter. Malcolm whimpered at the touch to his waist. Long ago had Trip found out his husband’s most sensitive spot, ticklish almost, and had took a mental note to explore it in as many ways as possible.

“You like that?” the blonde asked, mischief playing in his tone, to which Malcolm but moaned as deft fingers played around his waistline, carefully brushing his pubic hair, tracing a finger up and down his treasure trail.

Malcolm moaned again.

“I asked you a question,” the southerner said as his fingers twirled the hair around the shorter man’s bellybutton, but the reply was merely another whimper.

_Oh, Trip…_

The open hand hit his cheek en force breaking Malcolm’s journey of pleasure, a rather forceful pull back to reality. Malcolm couldn’t see, but he was sure his husband was looking at him, blue eyes penetrating through the fabric of the blindfold.

“I’m sorry” Reed said, rather low.

“What was that?”

Malcolm knew he was forcing it. He knew that if he pushed Trip would go deeper into the character and become more bossy, more aggressive, more of the dom Malcolm needed and knew Trip could be.

“Nothing”

_That should do it._

The hands were no longer on his waist and Malcolm instinctively braced for a slap, or punch, that never hit him. Instead, he was jerked backwards by Trip pulling him by the ropes.

“Do you think I’m joking?”

_He is trying. Oh, he is! I can see through the façade, he’s worried of going too far. But he’s trying._

“No, Sir”

Trip let him go, and Malcolm fell sideways.

“That’s more like it”

Malcolm could hear the sound of Trip’s steps around the room, muffled by the carpet, and the air coming in through the ventilation system. His own breath, much louder than the rest, was uneven from trying to get up, but the way Trip had tied him up made it rather difficult. Lying sideways, naked, tied up, his sweat-slick body rubbing against the carpet, his dick hard from all the pleasure his husband was giving him, Malcolm never felt more sensual. Sure, Trip was still getting the hang of it, but he knew the blonde was getting more and more into it. He was afraid to hurt Malcolm, but little did he know the Englishman enjoyed some pain with his pleasure.

All of this transpired as Trip observed his husband lying there, naked, half-trying to get up and ending up rubbing his dick against the carpet. _Good thing I had it very fluffy. Otherwise Mal could get really sore._ His husband was now whimpering, and the sound, though Trip would be hard-pressed to admit, was the sexiest sound he’d ever heard. Not even when the Englishman came, loudly, along with either a stream of curses or saying how much he loved him, was as sexy as the sound of him puffing for breath, his skin patched in red, helpless.

_Helpless._

_Could… Could I… Nah. No. This is just roleplaying,_ Trip assured himself as he placed the rope on the sheave, and set the whole thing up.

Malcolm listened. He definitely heard the sound of ropes, and the sheave, and also Trip was moving about a lot.

“Sir?”

Trip looked down to find Malcolm lying sideways, no longer trying to stand, or even kneel.

“Gave up?" the blonde asked as he got another rope, sweat covering his hands. "Already?"

 _Ouch._ That hurt Malcolm deeper than he expected, but not in a negative way. It was liberating; He had failed, he couldn’t get up.

“Yes, Sir. I can’t get up”. Saying so out loud was good. Malcolm felt release. Strange. He’d never thought.

Trip hunched over Malcolm, his sweat soaked hair sticked to his forehead.

“You need help. Say it”

There was a note of pleasure to the blonde’s voice.

“Sir, please, I need help. I can't get up”

Trip smiled, though his husband would never be able to tell, and moved to stand beside his husband, towering over the dark-haired man now lying sideways on the carpeted floor. Trip was about to kneel when sweat beads fell from his hair, hitting Malcolm straight in the face, and the blonde was about to wipe them, but Malcolm instinctively moved his tongue to reach for the ones that hit him by his lips, and his husband’s eyes widened.

_Kinky sunvabitch!!!!_

The salty drops felt amazing against his dry lips. When they hit him in the face, his tongue moved out of his own accord, darted out of his mouth directly to where the drops had landed. Malcolm had all but seized the moment, the taste, the essence… The blindfold. Malcolm had had it on for so long now he had forgotten about it. _Damn it!!!_

The jerk of the ropes pulling him up was rather forceful. In a single motion Malcolm was standing, his hands still tied behind his back, but standing.

“So”, the blonde said, studying Malcolm, “you liked my sweat?”

_He saw me.  
_

Before Malcolm could muster his thoughts and come up with an answer, Trip wiped the sweat off his face, and then rubbed his sweat-covered hand all over Malcolm's face.

The Englishman gasped with pleasure, shock, shame. He desperately licked Trip’s fingers, savoring the salt.

“You like this, don’t you?” Trip asked, unashamedly pushing two fingers inside Malcolm’s mouth, whom in turn sucked them eagerly. Somehow whilst working those fingers Malcolm was able to utter an “Yes, Sir”.

Trip pulled the fingers out of Malcolm’s mouth, the Englishman showed no shame when he went for them as the fingers moved away, and then stood there, open-mouthed, as if his very self was on Trip’s hands. The blonde observed Malcolm, as he stood there, silent, deep breaths heaving his chest, and something occurred to Trip. He quickly grabbed the hair on the back of Malcolm’s head. He closed his hand harder and the Englishman half-moaned half-cried.

“Did you like tasting me?”

 _This is going to be good. No point in lying._ “Yes, Sir”.

In one swift motion Trip raised his left arm, placing his left hand in his nuque, and with his right hand all but pushed Malcolm’s face into his left armpit. The sweat-soaked blonde hair greeted the Englishman’s face head on, and Malcolm was in heaven. His cock jerked up, going from half-mast to a full hard-on. The smell was incredible. Sure, Trip had applied odorless deodorant on earlier that day, but it wasn’t that good anymore, and after all the exertion?! There was a faint musk smell beneath, something very Trip-like (perhaps his cologne had mixed somehow?! Perhaps it trickled down from his neck?) _Why am I thinking?!_ Instinctively Malcolm opened his mouth and his tongue was assailing Trip’s pit, going over his hair, licking the sweat, taking in all of Trip. His nostrils were in heaven.

Trip was moaning loudly, cursing, calling his lover pet names. He truly never ceased to be amazed at how skilled of a tongue his husband had. Sure, Trip was moaning, but Malcolm was beyond himself. Trip had never seen his husband so into anything ever before, and it occurred him. The blonde brought his arm down, keeping Malcolm’s head firmly against his pit, and the shorter man went insane. He started sniffing, licking, moving his tongue around like his very life depended on his husbands’s armpit, and then Trip let him go.

Malcolm just stood there, petrified, face covered in sweat, red from exertion, with a few strands of blonde hair plastered against his cheeks and forehead.

 _Kinky sunvabitch!!!!_ “Stand still”

Malcolm daren’t disobey such a command.

Trip released the rope from the sheave, Malcolm felt his hands drop back to the small of his back, and lust-numb brain was somehow capable of telling him the rope was gone (at least the one on the sheave) and that he had to stand for himself.

_What now?!_

Trip started caressing Malcolm’s face, the shorter man cuddling to the action.

“On you knees”.

Malcolm’s body reacted out of it’s own accord, positioning him squarely in front of the blonde.

“Did you like my pit musk?” There could be no doubt, not with that tone. _He’s into it._

“Yes, Sir, I did. Very much, indeed,” Malcolm’s tone was one of submission, pleasure, absolute fulfillment in his surrender to his most primal desires.

“What did you like the most?” Trip’s smile was a feral one, of someone taking charge, of someone who’s just going to take what he wants.

As for Malcolm, his mouth was dry, his ears were throbbing, and he could hear his heart beating. “Your smell, Sir”.

“Is that all?”

“Your taste, Sir. The warmth of your skin”. The Englishman’s dick was hard as a rock and throbbing, unattended.

“Describe it to me” Trip demanded. His grin was lethal, if Malcolm could see it, and he dropped his jockstrap, freeing his erection.

Malcolm couldn’t find words. His brain had abandoned him. There was only Trip. There was only his smell, his taste, him.

“What is it, Mal? Can’t think?” the laughter was audible though never really there.

“I can’t, Sir. I just need it”. It was like a Credo. Malcolm believed it. He truly did. He needed the smell of his man.

Trip held Malcolm’s chin. “Say it. I know ya wanna say it”.

“I need it, Sir. I need you. I need your smell, your taste, you. Please. Please”.

_Please, Love, please._

And Malcolm was absolutely floored when Trip, very gently, pushed his face against his crotch, blindfolded face meeting sweaty, musky blond pubic hair. The smell was Trip. It was him. All of him.

With his tongue out, licking away at the hair, Malcolm was barely able to say “Thank you, Sir” before giving himself fully to the joy.


End file.
